


Grateful

by klained



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klained/pseuds/klained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Cleganes were sworn to the Starks instead of the Lannisters? (prompted on Tumblr by bighound-littlebird)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grateful

Sandor knew he had much to be grateful for. As their liege lords, the Starks were good to the Cleganes. Their forefather had been given Clegane Keep, not far from Winterfell. He and Gregor were promised at birth to squire for Lord Rikard’s sons. When Brandon Stark had found him hiding in the kennels, a frightened six year old covered in burns, the newly returned Eddard got his squire a few years early. The younger lord of Winterfell may have been reluctant, but was kind and taught him well. He had been on the honor guard when Lord Eddard Stark married his late brother’s betrothed, been sent to escort the new bride home. After the rebellion was over, the new Lady of Winterfell had sent him to King’s Landing with a new tunic she had sewn, wishing him luck in the celebratory tournaments.

But it rankled, being left behind. At twelve, he was nearly as tall as any of Lord Stark’s bannermen, but was ordered to guard the women and children, while his brother, knighted, had ridden towards battle with a spiteful smirk. He had been at Winterfell when the trueborn heir to the north was born, when the bastard had arrived. Word of his Lord’s victory at King’s Landing felt empty. Lady Catelyn had tried to cheer him, but the thought of his monstrous brother having a hand in it tore at his gut.

At last the tourneys came and he had been sent off. After arriving, he had seen is brother in passing, wearing Lannister red. Lord Eddard had been fuming but said nothing. After unhorsing half a dozen knights, he lost and wandered back to his tent. As he stripped his armor, Lord Tywin Lannister came to him, offering gold, land, women, anything so long as Sandor became his sworn sword. Glad at finally being rid of his brother, he refused. Halfway home to Winterfell, Lord Eddard had rewarded Sandor for his loyalty. In camp, beside The Kingsroad, he was made lord of Clegane Keep and a bannerman.

In the following years, the Starks had more children: two girls, then two more boys. There was another rebellion and the last heir to the Iron Islands was added to the brood. As the boys grew, Sandor assisted in training them, hoping to pay back the kindness of Lord Stark and his father. The bastard followed him around, as though he thought to be a squire. Sandor knew the boy thought them similar, unwanted for who they were, so the boy was indulged. The heirs to Winterfell and Pyke grew to be close friends, often trying to gang up on him during practice. The second boy he thought to be half wild, always climbing the castle walls or the woods. The younger was still a babe in arms and so he had nothing to think on it.

The girls, though, were as different as night and day. The younger looked like her father and thought herself to be one of his sons. She often came to the practice yard in old training armor, demanding to be allowed. Even when turned away, she still stood to the side and copied his movements. With her father’s permission, she soon was able to hold her own against any one of the older boys. The older daughter was more like her mother, a proper lady doing her sewing, singing her songs, and believing her stories of knights and maids. This suited Sandor as it kept her out of his way.

He hated the thought of his castle. It was his now, to accept or refuse any visitor, but the memory of his brother kept him away as often as possible. When his duties could not be put off any longer, he would attend to them, coming back to his true home as quickly as possible.

On one of his return trips, a flash of red hair in the field past the village caught his eye. He reigned in his warhorse and looked. Out on her own was the older Stark girl, Sansa, picking wild flowers. “My lady,” he called as he rode slowly towards her. She spun in surprise, then smiled brightly at him.

“Aren’t the flowers lovely, Sandor?” she chirped.

“You shouldn’t be so far from the castle alone, my lady,” he growled as he dismounted.

“But you’re here so I’m not alone anymore. Are you coming back home? We’ve missed you! Stay here a while and rest and we can go back together.”

Unable to get a word in edgewise, Sandor simply set Stranger to grazing and leaned against a rock until the girl was finished. She continued to prattle on, jumping from topic to topic. First she spoke of her brothers and their fighting, then to new stories she was told, then complaining about her sister. The ease with which the girl spoke to him was discomforting. He had been a lord for some years now, but he still felt like little more than a sworn sword to the Starks. Being treated as an equal did not sit well, when he had for so long his brother’s inferior, then ward to one Lord Stark and squire to the next. When she sat in the grass and began arranging her bundle, he groaned, wishing he hadn’t stopped.

He saw Stranger had wandered to the edge of the Wolfswood and quietly envied the horse its solitude. As he watched, the horse pricked its ears and stared into the wood. An almighty howl had the great beast bolting. In a moment, Sandor saw the great beast was heading straight for Sansa, was going to trample her.

“Move!” he yelled as he dashed towards her. “Out of the way!”

In a moment, the girl saw the horse coming at her and she froze. A moment before the horse was on her, he tackled her to the ground, covering her from the frightened hooves. He watched as the horse galloped off, too fast and frightened to catch. Once it disappeared, he turned to where it had come, ensuring no further danger was imminent. At last he pulled away and rose to his knees.

“Are you hurt, my lady?” He scanned her face, looking for any sign of pain.

In answer, she threw her arms around his neck, trembling and shaking. Uncertainly, he patted her back and waited for her to calm. Without another word, he led her back to Winterfell on foot in the growing darkness, resolving to hunting for his horse in the morning. On arrival, he let her tell as much of the incident as she could, then privately told Lord Stark the full story. The thanks of the father and mother almost made up for the child.

She began to follow him everywhere. In the practice yard she would sit to the side with her sewing, glancing wide eyed at him through her lashes. In the stables she kept well away from the horses, but still watched him, frequently passing him some compliment. And each day her words got more personal, from thanking him, to complimenting his fighting, to asking if there was a woman he fancied to marry. No matter how he barked and snarled, so persisted in her attentions.

He knew he should be grateful. What would Lord and Lady Stark have done if she’d died?


End file.
